by Lyn Andrews
‘What tragedy? Was there a mining disaster?’ Rose had asked. She knew such things happened.
‘No, not for years in any of the ones their father owned. One weekend the parents went off to visit friends in England – somewhere in the Wye Valley we heard – but they never got there. Terrible accident there was, see. Their motor car overturned on a steep stretch of the road after colliding with a farm cart and rolled down the side of the hill. Both killed, they were. Tragic, it was.’ Gwen had shaken her head sadly remembering the big funeral for the Rhys-Pritchards. ‘Folk say Miss Elinore never got over it. She was her father’s pet, see.’
‘I thought she was a bit vague but after a shock like that you would be. Was it very long ago? How old was she then?’
‘About the same age as you are now, Rose. Must have been nine years ago now.’
Rose had felt very sorry for Elinore Rhys-Pritchard; she couldn’t envisage losing both her parents like that.
‘And then of course young Mr David, or Dai as they call him, was badly wounded in the war,’ Gwen had continued.
Rose had been surprised. ‘I didn’t know they had a brother.’
‘Oh yes indeed. Shrapnel in both legs. Terrible! He can walk but only a few steps and it’s so painful that he spends most of his time in a wheelchair now. Such a shame when you think of how you used to see him galloping around on that big bay hunter he had. Sold the horse, those girls did. Took him a long time to get well and I’ve heard that it’s affected him in other ways too. Very down he gets. Sad, isn’t it?’
‘I think it affected a lot of the boys like that. I know our Charlie didn’t come back the same person,’ she’d told Gwen.
After supper she’d helped Gwen clear away and wash up and had then read for half an hour but she didn’t stay up and finish her book, knowing they had an early start in the morning.
Thankfully the overnight rain had cleared next morning and the sun was shining, giving the promise of another hot day.
‘Much better after that rain, isn’t it? Everything looks and smells fresher,’ Gwen commented, breathing in deeply as she and Rose mounted their bicycles and rode to Plas Idris.
The place was a hive of activity when they arrived and Gwen smiled. ‘Get a good crowd today, we will, I shouldn’t wonder. Now, there’s only an hour before we open to the public. There’s at least four busloads coming from Denbigh and some from Mold and Pentrefoelas and the judges will be starting their inspection soon. You go and find Miss Olivia and see if there’s anything urgent she needs doing. I’ll make sure that Mrs Llewellyn-Jones isn’t still causing a fuss,’ Gwen directed.
Rose found Miss Olivia in the small marquee reserved for the judges. She looked well, she thought. Her wide-brimmed straw hat decorated with pink artificial flowers was reminiscent of the style worn before the war, as was her blouse. High-necked and pale pink, it had inserts of white lace in the leg-o’-mutton sleeves which matched the white skirt she wore and from under which white buttoned boots could be glimpsed. The outfit made her look every inch the lady she was. Gwen had said she was twenty-nine but Rose thought that she looked older and would probably appear younger if she adopted the more modern styles now fashionable.
She herself was wearing a blue and white cotton dress with a drop-waist, short sleeves and a fluted hemline which she’d bought in Denbigh and which looked fresh and cool. She’d trimmed her blue cloche with some white ribbon which had brightened it up.
‘Miss Olivia, Miss Roberts sent me to ask if there’s anything needing to be done.’
Olivia turned, a frown creasing her forehead. ‘Ah, Rose! Yes, there is something you can do,’ she said. She was feeling slightly harassed and thankful to have another pair of hands. She had met the girl on several occasions and had found her a pleasant, willing worker although her accent grated a little. ‘Would you go over to the house, please? Elinore has forgotten to bring the “Best in Show” cards over and the judges will be starting any minute now. They’re on the sideboard in the dining room, so she informs me. Do you know where that is?’
Rose shook her head. ‘No, but don’t worry, I’ll find it.’
‘It’s at the back of the house, the last door on the left before the baize door to the kitchens and would you hurry, please? I don’t want any complaints about tardiness or bad organisation.’ She sighed, thinking she could well do without her sister’s forgetfulness on days like today, before turning back to the group of elderly gentlemen who comprised the panel of judges.
Rose quickly covered the distance to the house and made her way down the wide hallway, finally reaching what she hoped was the dining room. She breathed a sigh of relief when she opened the door to see a long, highly polished table and matching chairs. Floor-length, mulberry-coloured velvet curtains held back with gold-coloured cords graced the large windows but the internal shutters had only been partly folded back and so the room was rather dark. She found the cards in a neat pile on the heavily carved sideboard that took up most of one wall but as she turned to leave she was startled to see a young man sitting near the window furthest from her.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t think there was anyone here. I … I suppose I should have knocked first. I was sent to fetch these cards for the judges. Miss Elinore forgot to take them over with the others,’ she blurted out awkwardly. To her relief he smiled.
‘Poor Ellie, she often forgets things and I think sometimes she finds all Livvie’s instructions rather confusing,’ he said with a note of affection in his voice as he moved towards her.
Rose could now see that he was sitting in a wheelchair. ‘Well, I have to agree that things have been a bit hectic these last couple of days,’ she said shyly, realising that this must be David Rhys-Pritchard.
She could see him quite clearly now and she thought he would have been a very handsome young man if it hadn’t been for the scar on his left cheek and the signs of suffering deeply etched on his features. She judged him to be about as old as her brother Charlie.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked, knowing from her accent that she wasn’t local.
‘Rose. Rose Mundy. Well, Rosamund actually but everyone calls me just Rose. I’m staying with Miss Roberts, the postmistress.’
‘Rose – Rosamund. Rosa mundi,’ he repeated. ‘“The rose of the world”. Did you know that?’
Embarrassed, she looked down at the cards she was clutching, not knowing if he was mocking her. ‘No, I don’t know why Mam picked that name. I … I think I’d better go now, the judges are waiting,’ she replied. Then she looked up but he had turned away and was staring out of the window, lost in a world of his own, seemingly unaware that she was even there. Quietly she let herself out, closing the door gently behind her, and ran down the length of the hall and out into the gardens, heading for the marquee. The experience had unsettled her.
She had no time over the next few hours to dwell on her encounter with David Rhys-Pritchard as she accompanied Gwen and Bethan Williams around the many exhibits, which included vegetables and craftwork as well as flowers and floral displays, but when they finally arrived home, late that afternoon, she remembered it.
‘Aunty Gwen, when I went over for those cards I met David Rhys-Pritchard and he said something … odd.’
Gwen looked concerned. ‘What? Nothing … inappropriate, I hope?’
Rose shook her head. ‘He said my name means “Rose of the world”. I don’t know if he was making fun of me or not.’
Gwen smiled. ‘I don’t think he was, cariad. There is a rose called “Rosa mundi” and that’s exactly what it means. I think it was meant as a compliment.’
Rose was still a little puzzled. ‘He asked me did I know that but when I answered he’d turned away and it was as if … I wasn’t there.’
‘Ah, don’t take that to heart. I told you he can be a bit … strange. It was the war, luv,’ Gwen assured her.
Rose nodded. ‘He must have been very handsome before he was wounded. I felt sorry for him, it must be awfu
l to be left crippled like that.’
‘He was indeed a handsome lad. Terrible, it is. Terrible, but those girls look after him well enough and there’s nothing either of us can do to help or change things,’ Gwen replied.
As she began to set the table for supper Rose thought that Charlie had been lucky, very lucky indeed not to have been as badly wounded as David Rhys-Pritchard.
Chapter Nine
CHARLIE WAS FEELING VERY fortunate indeed for as the weeks passed his romance with Florence blossomed and he was becoming quite fond of her. They saw each other twice a week, every week, and it was becoming quite clear that he wouldn’t have much trouble persuading her to agree when he asked to marry her, which he intended to do at Christmas. He got on well with her father so he didn’t expect any opposition when he went formally to ask for her hand. Her mother was a different kettle of fish though. Even though she was unfailingly polite it was quite clear that she neither liked him nor thought him good enough for her only daughter. He hoped that when the ring was on Florence’s finger her attitude would soften.
She wasn’t the only one who thought Florence was above him. He’d had a few rows with Iris too and so now relations between them were decidedly cool. He’d become really angry the last time she had voiced her opinions, he remembered. ‘You’re jealous, Iris, that’s what you are. You just can’t stomach the fact that Florence really cares for me and prefers to spend time with me rather than you,’ he’d shouted at his sister.
Iris had laughed cuttingly. ‘Jealous! That’s a laugh! Doesn’t she come almost every Sunday? No, I just think she is making a mistake and I don’t want her to get hurt.’
‘I’m sick to death of hearing what you think, Iris. It’s what Florence thinks that’s important.’
‘For heaven’s sake! Shut up, the pair of you.’ Kate was exasperated.
‘He’s up to something, Mam, I know he is!’ Iris had cried.
‘Like what, may I ask?’ he’d demanded angrily, wondering if she really did have some inkling of his plans.
‘Like courting her just to get your feet under the table with her da—’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Mam, will you tell her she’s going off her rocker!’ he’d interrupted furiously.
‘Iris, that’s a terrible thing to say!’ Kate had upbraided her. Any fool could see that Florence genuinely idolised Charlie and he seemed to think the world of her, treating her always with affection and respect. She’d wondered if he did have a point about Iris being jealous though.
‘I don’t want Florence to get hurt, that’s all,’ Iris had explained, which made him even more angry.
‘She won’t get hurt! I suppose the fact that I spend every spare penny I have making sure she enjoys herself when we go out counts for nothing?’ he’d said cuttingly. ‘Or that I often get off the tram two or three stops early to save a few coppers?’
Kate had intervened then and firmly told them she didn’t want to hear another word on the subject. She had resolved to speak to her daughter later: a conversation he’d heard part of through the scullery door.
‘Iris, luv, you must stop accusing Charlie of being devious. You’re just going to have to accept that, whether you like it or not, Florence and Charlie seem to love each other,’ Kate had said gently but firmly.
‘Mam, I can’t help it. He wasn’t in the least bit interested in Florence until the day she came here to meet Rose,’ Iris had protested.
‘He hadn’t met her until then. He’d only ever heard you talk about her,’ Kate had reminded her.
‘Yes, well, but after that he wanted to know where she lived and then after I’d been for tea and I’d described their house to you, doesn’t he take himself off to see her father and the next thing is they are courting,’ Iris protested stubbornly. She just couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that Charlie had some kind of ulterior motive.
‘I think you’re making something out of nothing, Iris,’ Kate had sighed.
‘Her mother doesn’t like him. Florence has told me that,’ Iris had persisted.
‘She obviously wanted better for Florence. If they do eventually get married, Florence is going to have to accept that she’s not going to be able to live in the style she does now, but if she loves him, they’ll manage. She’s got a decent enough job. Now, let the subject drop, Iris, please. I hate to see you and Charlie at loggerheads.’
He hadn’t heard clearly what reply his sister had given, but then the conversation had turned to Rose and he’d moved away from the door.
He’d left the office and had walked down to the Pier Head to catch the tram home and was deep in thought about his sister’s animosity towards his courtship of Florence as the vehicle made its way through the streets of the city centre and out towards Scotland Road. As it reached St Anthony’s Church there seemed to be some sort of hold-up, which brought him out of his reverie. Passengers asked the conductor what was wrong. Was there a problem with the overhead trolley? How long did he think they would be stuck here?
‘I’ll have a word with the driver, hang on a minute,’ the man replied. He went to confer with the tram driver and was back in a few seconds. ‘Looks as though there’s been an accident. My mate up front says he can see an ambulance, a bit of a crowd and plenty of bobbies but he hopes we won’t be held up for long.’
‘Probably another bloody horse that’s bolted. Cause mayhem they do, stupid animals, you’ve only got to sneeze and they’re off!’ someone remarked caustically.
It was fifteen minutes before the traffic began to move again but as he alighted at his stop Charlie thought that at least the women would be busy getting the evening meal organised and wouldn’t be on their doorsteps gossiping, so at least he wouldn’t get waylaid and have to stop and be asked questions, the answers to which they most probably already knew. They did it just to make certain they had the facts right before passing on any information they’d gleaned.
Iris was already home and his mam was shutting up the shop so his sister was setting the table.
‘What’s for tea?’ he asked, taking off his jacket and cap.
‘There’s a pie in the oven,’ Iris answered curtly.
Charlie noticed the envelope on the dresser. ‘I see our Rose’s weekly letter has arrived. No doubt full of gossip about what’s going on in Tregarron, as if we’re really interested.’
‘Speak for yourself. I think her letters are very interesting and often amusing and so does Mam.’
‘What is amusing?’ Kate asked as she came into the kitchen, catching the end of Iris’s conversation.
‘Our Rose’s letters,’ Iris supplied.
‘I have to say I really look forward to them. When she wrote about the flower show it brought back some memories, I can tell you,’ Kate said.
‘When’s she coming home? Or does she intend to stay there for ever?’ Charlie asked.
Kate sighed. ‘Reading between the lines I think she’d like to but I’m going to suggest she comes home next month. Gwen can’t keep her much longer, it wouldn’t be fair to ask her to. No, she can come back before the end of August.’
Iris nodded; she missed Rose. ‘Is Da staying open late, Mam, or will he be in soon?’
‘He closed a bit earlier today, luv, he had some business to attend to. I don’t like him keeping too many pieces of jewellery in that old safe he has in the shop. Gold is too valuable and times are hard, it’s safer in the bank, but he hates going.’
Charlie looked perturbed. ‘I wouldn’t have thought there was that much, Mam?’
‘It mounts up, Charlie. It’s awful really, the number of poor souls who’ve had to pawn their wedding rings and other bits just to make ends meet and haven’t been able to redeem them. No, I told him it was best to take it to the bank for safekeeping.’
‘He shouldn’t be long now though, they close early enough,’ Iris stated, glancing at the clock on the mantel over the range.
Half an hour later Kate decided that rather than let the pie dry up they wo
uld eat and she’d plate Bill’s up; he’d probably met someone and been delayed. They had almost finished when the sound of someone banging hard on the shop door interrupted them.
Kate got up. ‘If that’s Mary Duncan wanting more potatoes because she’s run out I won’t be very happy! If she spent more time in her kitchen and less jangling on her doorstep, she’d be more aware of what she needed.’
Iris got to her feet. ‘Sit down and finish your meal, Mam,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ve finished mine. I’ll go and I’ll serve her.’ Quite often people called after they had closed. Hilda Jarvis who ran the corner shop said she was tormented every night by people who’d run out of things. She never seemed to get a meal in peace.
As she opened the door Iris’s hand went to her mouth and her heart dropped like a stone. A police constable was standing there looking grim.
‘Is your mam in, luv?’ he asked.
She could only nod as panic swept over her. It was Da! Something had happened to her da, she knew it!
‘Then I think I’d best come in,’ he said gently, noting her obvious distress. She led him through the shop and into the kitchen and when Kate saw him she uttered a cry of distress.
‘Mrs Mundy? Mrs Kate Mundy? I think you’d better get your coat, luv.’
‘Oh, my God! It’s Bill! What’s happened to him?’ she cried.
‘He’s in Stanley Hospital. I’m afraid there was an accident, a lorry skidded and went out of control. It’s not good, they say. I’m very sorry. Is there anything I can do?’
Charlie, although white-faced and shocked, reached for his jacket. ‘Can you try and find us a hackney or something? If we have to go on the tram it will take ages.’
‘I can but it will … er … cost. Cabs don’t come cheap,’ he reminded them. People in this neighbourhood never travelled in such style. They couldn’t afford to.
‘I know, but don’t worry, we’ve got the fare,’ Charlie assured him. This was one time he wasn’t going to quibble over a few shillings.
